stop acting like you're not impressed for biases
Title: stop acting like you're not impressed
Recipient: biases
Pairing: junhyung/yoseob
Word count: roughly 1500
Rating: pg
Warning(s): none.
Summary: junhyung and yoseob have a thinly-disguised dinner date.
Notes: merry christmas! I hope this is to your liking :D
One otherwise unexciting night, their dorm suddenly smells like a very, very strong fire. Yoseob rolls onto his back and sighs, staring at the ceiling. The smell is, no doubt, wafting in from the kitchen.
He inches to the side of his bed and counts bodies; Kikwang, Hyunseung, and Dongwoon are all fast asleep. Doojoon’s probably still filming, which leaves…Junhyung. Yoseob sighs and jumps down to the floor.
The smell gets stronger the closer he gets to the kitchen. Junhyung is leaning over the top of their stove, covering the source of the stench. “Nothing’s going on here,” he mumbles, “Go back to bed.”
“What did you burn?” Yoseob winces at how groggy he sounds.
“I said, nothing.”
“Right.” He stammers to the stove, nudging Junhyung aside with his shoulder. On a plate sits a big, black slab, possibly a piece of meat. He clucks his tongue. “Should have made ramyun.”
“I’m sick of it.” Junhyung pokes the slab, a tight frown on his face. Yoseob knows the look; he’s seen it when Junhyung thinks he fudged a line or a dance step after they finish a performance. It’s weird, seeing him look so forlorn and frustrated over a piece of meat. “I want something real.”
“So you cooked?”
Junhyung nods stubbornly. “What else would I do?” he picks up the meat with a spatula, tossing it into the trash. “Half of us can’t even cook rice-“
“Um.”
“Hyunseung shouldn’t even walk into a kitchen-“
“Ahem.”
“And Doojoon is great at pretending to be competent, but really he can’t-“
“Junhyung.”
He turns to look at Yoseob. “Yes?”
“I-I.” Yoseob points to his chest. “I can cook. Family restaurant, remember?”
There’s a silent pause before Junhyung scoffs. “Don’t even,” he says. “Who was it that helped me lose that cooking competition to Hyunseung and Kikwang, who, I might add, are the two least competent people in this band?”
“That was pasta, we don’t do pasta.”
“Really,” he says, mockingly. “Aren’t real cooks supposed to adapt to any form of-“
“The point is,” Yoseob says, smiling with gritted teeth, “I can cook you something. What do you want? I’ll make it tomorrow.”
Junhyung folds his arms, giving Yoseob a pensive stare. “Kimchi jjigae,” he says, challenging. “With pork.”
Yoseob smirks. Before he’d moved into the dorms, his mother had given him a number of notecards with recipes-it was nice, but he’d only used them once a month, if that. Kimchi jjigae was one of the recipes, though, and he has enough common sense from living with cooks his whole life to add pork without disaster. “Sure,” he says, and then adds, “Prepare for the sensory overload of your life.”
--
The look on Junhyung’s face the next evening says everything. One eyebrow is furrowed in confusion, the other rising in amusement as he stares into the depths of his bowl. His lips move but he says nothing, as if there’s tons of questions he wants to ask but won’t. Yoseob can guess a few of them-where did you find the time for this? How did you buy all the ingredients?-but he doesn’t get the first one Junhyung asks.
“Did you drug this or something,” he mumbles after a few quiet slurps. “It’s too good.”
“Drugs are illegal,” Kikwang whispers helpfully. Dongwoon snorts.
“Just acknowledge that I’m a culinary genius,” Yoseob says, glowering at Junhyung, whose pot is now less than half-full.
“Hmph.” Junhyung downs another spoonful. “I bet your mom made it.”
Yoseob holds out his hands as proof, only to realize he’d washed them clean before Junhyung walked in. Curse his irrational fear of health inspectors. “Is it really that hard to believe I can make something edible?”
Junhyung seems to consider this. “Yes.”
“Well then.” Yoseob shrugs. “I don’t know how else to prove my genius to you.”
“Teach me.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope,” Junhyung gestures to the bowl, now completely empty. “Teach me to make this.”
“I have nothing to prove,” Yoseob sniffs. “Give me something in return.”
“Peace of mind? Glory?”
He frowns. “Something concrete, please.”
“A mug that says “Best Fucking Cook in Beast”?” Yoseob gags. “Fine, I’ll give you the most comfortable blanket in the history of mankind,” he says, and then stops. “And my swagger shirt.”
That he could settle for. Yoseob envisions the shirt in his mind, remembers how he’s envied it ever since Junhyung got it as a fan gift. Why didn’t the fans buy him a t-shirt with SWAGGER emblazoned across the chest in big, black letters? He has just as much charisma as any of them. “It’s a deal,” he says, and Junhyung reaches over to ruffle his hair in approval.
For the shirt, Yoseob reminds himself. All for the shirt.
--
Yoseob intends on going to the supermarket alone, but Junhyung insists on following him, covering his face with a baseball cap and a thick scarf. When Yoseob starts shivering at the crosswalk, he gives up the scarf, but he becomes obnoxiously useless once they set foot in the supermarket. “Go get the onions,” Yoseob says, and Junhyung plants himself on the nearest bench. “What are you doing?”
“Sleeping,” Junhyung answers. “You should already know the ingredients.”
Yoseob sighs heavily; he’s not about to lose this one. He considers using the tried-and-true fan excuse, but a very determined mother is dragging along the only schoolgirl in sight. Wait, that’s it. Mothers.
“If you’re just going to sit here and sleep, I might as well ask that nice lady over there if she can help me find everything. Or maybe I’ll call my mom-“
“Fine.” Junhyung slowly pushes himself off the bench. “You’re still picking out everything, though.”
Yoseob beams. “Hold the basket.”
Junhyung pays before Yoseob can stop him.
--
Yoseob lays the ingredients across the kitchen table, the pork, kimchi, and onions already chopped and the hot pot heating up on the stove. “This is possibly the easiest recipe ever,” he tells Junhyung, “So if you can’t make it, you’re pretty pathetic.”
“How encouraging,” Junhyung mumbles, adjusting his apron.
“Are you ready?” Junhyung nods. “Okay, the first thing you do is stir fry the sesame oil, garlic, pork, and chili paste in the pot, so put them in there.” Junhyung grabs the ingredients and tosses them in, staring back at Yoseob like a lost sheep. He bites his tongue to keep from laughing. “Grab a spoon and stir them, stupid.”
He frowns. “For how long?”
“Five minutes or so.”
Junhyung stirs with almost extreme concentration at first. He slows down when he gets bored, and eventually Yoseob takes over. After a few minutes, he says, “put the water and the kimchi in.”
He backs off from the pot as Junhyung pours the water in, a bit of steam rising. “Now what?” he asks.
“We wait for it to boil.”
Junhyung frowns again. “I’m getting a beer.”
Yoseob sighs. “It’s only going to be a few minutes,” he drags the spoon through the pot. “Am I not delightful enough company?”
“I never said that,” he mumbles, closing the refrigerator door, and Yoseob beams. Junhyung walks back over and stares into the pot. “What else can you make?”
“So you believe me now?” Yoseob asks, raising an eyebrow.
Junhyung nods begrudgingly. “Food is more important than my dignity,” he says sadly.
Yoseob isn’t sure if he wants anyone else to know about his recipe stash. “There usually isn’t time, but pretty much everything,” he says.
“Except pasta.”
He frowns. “That was a fluke and you know it.”
“Of course.” Junhyung ruffles his hair, and Yoseob takes that as a sign that he’s lying.
“You’re the one who can’t cook a slab of meat,” he says, poking a piece of pork that looks done. “It’s time for the tofu and onions.” Junhyung dumps them in the pot ungracefully, and then disappears. “Ready to get your mind blown again?” Yoseob asks.
Junhyung reappears next to the kitchen table. “Stop gloating and bring it over.”
--
The final step of the lesson, in which Junhyung makes the stew without Yoseob’s help, doesn’t go as smoothly, but it doesn’t matter because Yoseob’s already won. The swagger shirt is a bit big for him, but that’s the style, and he emerges from their bedroom, wearing it and beaming.
Junhyung bursts out laughing the moment he sees him. “You look like you’re five,” he says, and when Yoseob glowers, he adds, “In a nice way.” Kikwang and Hyunseung give enthusiastic thumbs-ups, and Dongwoon shrugs noncommittally.
Yoseob walks into the kitchen then, where Doojoon is standing over the remaining stew, as if he’s deciding whether or not it’s safe to eat. He dips a finger in the broth, and Yoseob nudges him closer to the pot. “Not bad,” he says, and turns around to get a bowl. “Though, just saying,” and he lowers his voice to a whisper, “This is the most roundabout way of asking someone on a date I’ve ever seen.” Yoseob wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Put him out of his misery, okay?”
“Get out,” Yoseob sniffs, and walks back to the living room, where Ha Jiwon’s face on their television has usurped the room’s attention. He sits next to Kikwang and eventually falls asleep, leaning on his shoulder.
Yoseob is the only one surprised the next morning when Junhyung promptly asks to help him cook pajeon for dinner.
Recipient: biases
Pairing: junhyung/yoseob
Word count: roughly 1500
Rating: pg
Warning(s): none.
Summary: junhyung and yoseob have a thinly-disguised dinner date.
Notes: merry christmas! I hope this is to your liking :D
One otherwise unexciting night, their dorm suddenly smells like a very, very strong fire. Yoseob rolls onto his back and sighs, staring at the ceiling. The smell is, no doubt, wafting in from the kitchen.
He inches to the side of his bed and counts bodies; Kikwang, Hyunseung, and Dongwoon are all fast asleep. Doojoon’s probably still filming, which leaves…Junhyung. Yoseob sighs and jumps down to the floor.
The smell gets stronger the closer he gets to the kitchen. Junhyung is leaning over the top of their stove, covering the source of the stench. “Nothing’s going on here,” he mumbles, “Go back to bed.”
“What did you burn?” Yoseob winces at how groggy he sounds.
“I said, nothing.”
“Right.” He stammers to the stove, nudging Junhyung aside with his shoulder. On a plate sits a big, black slab, possibly a piece of meat. He clucks his tongue. “Should have made ramyun.”
“I’m sick of it.” Junhyung pokes the slab, a tight frown on his face. Yoseob knows the look; he’s seen it when Junhyung thinks he fudged a line or a dance step after they finish a performance. It’s weird, seeing him look so forlorn and frustrated over a piece of meat. “I want something real.”
“So you cooked?”
Junhyung nods stubbornly. “What else would I do?” he picks up the meat with a spatula, tossing it into the trash. “Half of us can’t even cook rice-“
“Um.”
“Hyunseung shouldn’t even walk into a kitchen-“
“Ahem.”
“And Doojoon is great at pretending to be competent, but really he can’t-“
“Junhyung.”
He turns to look at Yoseob. “Yes?”
“I-I.” Yoseob points to his chest. “I can cook. Family restaurant, remember?”
There’s a silent pause before Junhyung scoffs. “Don’t even,” he says. “Who was it that helped me lose that cooking competition to Hyunseung and Kikwang, who, I might add, are the two least competent people in this band?”
“That was pasta, we don’t do pasta.”
“Really,” he says, mockingly. “Aren’t real cooks supposed to adapt to any form of-“
“The point is,” Yoseob says, smiling with gritted teeth, “I can cook you something. What do you want? I’ll make it tomorrow.”
Junhyung folds his arms, giving Yoseob a pensive stare. “Kimchi jjigae,” he says, challenging. “With pork.”
Yoseob smirks. Before he’d moved into the dorms, his mother had given him a number of notecards with recipes-it was nice, but he’d only used them once a month, if that. Kimchi jjigae was one of the recipes, though, and he has enough common sense from living with cooks his whole life to add pork without disaster. “Sure,” he says, and then adds, “Prepare for the sensory overload of your life.”
--
The look on Junhyung’s face the next evening says everything. One eyebrow is furrowed in confusion, the other rising in amusement as he stares into the depths of his bowl. His lips move but he says nothing, as if there’s tons of questions he wants to ask but won’t. Yoseob can guess a few of them-where did you find the time for this? How did you buy all the ingredients?-but he doesn’t get the first one Junhyung asks.
“Did you drug this or something,” he mumbles after a few quiet slurps. “It’s too good.”
“Drugs are illegal,” Kikwang whispers helpfully. Dongwoon snorts.
“Just acknowledge that I’m a culinary genius,” Yoseob says, glowering at Junhyung, whose pot is now less than half-full.
“Hmph.” Junhyung downs another spoonful. “I bet your mom made it.”
Yoseob holds out his hands as proof, only to realize he’d washed them clean before Junhyung walked in. Curse his irrational fear of health inspectors. “Is it really that hard to believe I can make something edible?”
Junhyung seems to consider this. “Yes.”
“Well then.” Yoseob shrugs. “I don’t know how else to prove my genius to you.”
“Teach me.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope,” Junhyung gestures to the bowl, now completely empty. “Teach me to make this.”
“I have nothing to prove,” Yoseob sniffs. “Give me something in return.”
“Peace of mind? Glory?”
He frowns. “Something concrete, please.”
“A mug that says “Best Fucking Cook in Beast”?” Yoseob gags. “Fine, I’ll give you the most comfortable blanket in the history of mankind,” he says, and then stops. “And my swagger shirt.”
That he could settle for. Yoseob envisions the shirt in his mind, remembers how he’s envied it ever since Junhyung got it as a fan gift. Why didn’t the fans buy him a t-shirt with SWAGGER emblazoned across the chest in big, black letters? He has just as much charisma as any of them. “It’s a deal,” he says, and Junhyung reaches over to ruffle his hair in approval.
For the shirt, Yoseob reminds himself. All for the shirt.
--
Yoseob intends on going to the supermarket alone, but Junhyung insists on following him, covering his face with a baseball cap and a thick scarf. When Yoseob starts shivering at the crosswalk, he gives up the scarf, but he becomes obnoxiously useless once they set foot in the supermarket. “Go get the onions,” Yoseob says, and Junhyung plants himself on the nearest bench. “What are you doing?”
“Sleeping,” Junhyung answers. “You should already know the ingredients.”
Yoseob sighs heavily; he’s not about to lose this one. He considers using the tried-and-true fan excuse, but a very determined mother is dragging along the only schoolgirl in sight. Wait, that’s it. Mothers.
“If you’re just going to sit here and sleep, I might as well ask that nice lady over there if she can help me find everything. Or maybe I’ll call my mom-“
“Fine.” Junhyung slowly pushes himself off the bench. “You’re still picking out everything, though.”
Yoseob beams. “Hold the basket.”
Junhyung pays before Yoseob can stop him.
--
Yoseob lays the ingredients across the kitchen table, the pork, kimchi, and onions already chopped and the hot pot heating up on the stove. “This is possibly the easiest recipe ever,” he tells Junhyung, “So if you can’t make it, you’re pretty pathetic.”
“How encouraging,” Junhyung mumbles, adjusting his apron.
“Are you ready?” Junhyung nods. “Okay, the first thing you do is stir fry the sesame oil, garlic, pork, and chili paste in the pot, so put them in there.” Junhyung grabs the ingredients and tosses them in, staring back at Yoseob like a lost sheep. He bites his tongue to keep from laughing. “Grab a spoon and stir them, stupid.”
He frowns. “For how long?”
“Five minutes or so.”
Junhyung stirs with almost extreme concentration at first. He slows down when he gets bored, and eventually Yoseob takes over. After a few minutes, he says, “put the water and the kimchi in.”
He backs off from the pot as Junhyung pours the water in, a bit of steam rising. “Now what?” he asks.
“We wait for it to boil.”
Junhyung frowns again. “I’m getting a beer.”
Yoseob sighs. “It’s only going to be a few minutes,” he drags the spoon through the pot. “Am I not delightful enough company?”
“I never said that,” he mumbles, closing the refrigerator door, and Yoseob beams. Junhyung walks back over and stares into the pot. “What else can you make?”
“So you believe me now?” Yoseob asks, raising an eyebrow.
Junhyung nods begrudgingly. “Food is more important than my dignity,” he says sadly.
Yoseob isn’t sure if he wants anyone else to know about his recipe stash. “There usually isn’t time, but pretty much everything,” he says.
“Except pasta.”
He frowns. “That was a fluke and you know it.”
“Of course.” Junhyung ruffles his hair, and Yoseob takes that as a sign that he’s lying.
“You’re the one who can’t cook a slab of meat,” he says, poking a piece of pork that looks done. “It’s time for the tofu and onions.” Junhyung dumps them in the pot ungracefully, and then disappears. “Ready to get your mind blown again?” Yoseob asks.
Junhyung reappears next to the kitchen table. “Stop gloating and bring it over.”
--
The final step of the lesson, in which Junhyung makes the stew without Yoseob’s help, doesn’t go as smoothly, but it doesn’t matter because Yoseob’s already won. The swagger shirt is a bit big for him, but that’s the style, and he emerges from their bedroom, wearing it and beaming.
Junhyung bursts out laughing the moment he sees him. “You look like you’re five,” he says, and when Yoseob glowers, he adds, “In a nice way.” Kikwang and Hyunseung give enthusiastic thumbs-ups, and Dongwoon shrugs noncommittally.
Yoseob walks into the kitchen then, where Doojoon is standing over the remaining stew, as if he’s deciding whether or not it’s safe to eat. He dips a finger in the broth, and Yoseob nudges him closer to the pot. “Not bad,” he says, and turns around to get a bowl. “Though, just saying,” and he lowers his voice to a whisper, “This is the most roundabout way of asking someone on a date I’ve ever seen.” Yoseob wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Put him out of his misery, okay?”
“Get out,” Yoseob sniffs, and walks back to the living room, where Ha Jiwon’s face on their television has usurped the room’s attention. He sits next to Kikwang and eventually falls asleep, leaning on his shoulder.
Yoseob is the only one surprised the next morning when Junhyung promptly asks to help him cook pajeon for dinner.